“You are young yet, and in time a new love may replace this lost one, and bring you great happiness.”
“Happiness is not for me. I am ill-fated!” moaned Cinthia.
“Do not feel so despondent. The young are naturally morbid. I know that by experience. I have had a great sorrow in my own life, and overlived it.”
Cinthia looked at her almost incredulously, she seemed so fair and bright, and her inexperienced eyes could not read the signs of a past grief in the delicate lines about the lips and eyes.
“I have overlived it, and so will you,” repeated the lady.
“Tell me how to do it. Help me!” cried Cinthia, appealingly; and as the lady remained gravely silent a moment, she added:
“Oh, if I could be filled with some great excitement that would occupy my thoughts, I believe I could put him out of my mind, except in very quiet moments. I was thinking just before you came in that I would like to go on the stage to become a great actress.”
An expression of dismay lowered over the fair face regarding her so intently, as Cinthia continued, eagerly:
“As we came to the hotel this morning, I saw through the carriage windows large posters announcing the appearance of a great actress to-night and this afternoon in a popular play. I have been thinking of her, and that I would like to have such a life. Do you think if I tried that I—might succeed?”
“Ah, child, you do not know what labor and trouble would be involved in such an undertaking.”